


Line of The Brightflame

by theredeeme



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, House Targaryen, Intrigue, Robert's Rebellion, Targaryen Incest, Targaryen Madness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:08:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29027715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theredeeme/pseuds/theredeeme
Summary: Aerion "Brightflame" drank wildfire believing that he would become a dragon. He died instead, screaming. His son, Maegor, still a babe at the time, was voted out of the line of succession due to Aerion's madness. twenty-six years later, after the tragedy at Summerhall. Maegor makes a claim for his birthright. This is a story of the line of the Brightflame. (the main story happens before and during Robert's Rebellion era)
Relationships: Maegor Targaryen (Son of Aerion) & Vaella Targaryen (Daughter of Daeron), Rhaegar - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

259 AC. The burning of Summerhall

Rhaella

Rhaella did not know which sound was louder amongst the chaos; the crackling of hellish wildfire where the mighty Summerhall once stood, the panicked screams of men running around akin to headless flies, or the pink crying babe within her arms.

 _Born beneath a bleeding star, among smoke and salt, comes the prince who was promised._ "Hush now, sweetling, hush now." She rocked the babe gently, back and forth. For these nine months she had carried the babe, she had never thought it would be so heavy. _It, is a he…? Rhaegar of House Targaryen_. The name still rolled off her tongue strangely. She was a mother now, the realization a foreign concept. Not long ago, she would still run within the gardens of Summerhall, whisper stories of chivalry with her cousins in the godswood of the Red Keep, pretend to be Florian and Jonquil with her Bonifer, _her sweet Bonifer_. Tears welled up in her eyes, stringing down her puffed-up cheeks. _Oh Grandfather, uncles, cousins, Ser Duncan..._

She looked back to the ruin of Summerhall, still strolling with green infernos, hot even to her from this distance apart. Men were still rushing towards it, attempting to put the fire out. A mute effort, it seemed, for the fire had grown more since she last dared to glance its way.

Rhaella hoped, prayed that Ser Duncan was safe. When the flames sprouted from the dungeons, it was he who carried her out of the ruinous halls as the pillars collapsed and the floors melted away. Then he left her by the young oaks next to the lake with the servants, gave her a quick pat on the head, and offered a sad smile before running back to the scorching pyre of a castle. The pat reminded her of the time when she was still eight years of age and stuck on a tree after chasing a wild kitten. The fear came to her young mind then, when the cat nimbly jumped off and she could not follow suit. Ser Duncan came to her rescue and promised to catch her if she jumped. He did, of course, for he was The Tall, the gentle giant, the knight who protected the young and innocent, the weak and the old, as all knights should. She was crying then, she was crying now, the only difference being that Ser Duncan wasn't able to comfort her with soft lullabies and smooth summer songs.

She looked back to her babe, for that seemed to be the only thing within her control. How gentle he nudged his tiny head to find a comfortable position within her bosoms and arms. _How delicate_ , she thought. _Was Aerys ever so soft? Was he ever so curious?_ Her husband and brother, Prince Aerys, was the image of Aegon the Conqueror, people say, with his purple eyes, silver hair, handsome face, and an affinity to the sword. He was nothing but cold and distant toward her, however, and her to him. There were innocent bonds between them once, crudely broken after their betrothal, and ever more so after their marriage. Grandfather Aegon was against it at first, but her parents insisted that from their union would come the promised prince, who would strengthen the Targaryen bloodline once again. Her grandfather protested little after that, especially with his eventual fixation of hatching dragon eggs. _At least Aerys and father and mother are safe at Dragonstone._ The babe made a noise. _And Rhaegar is safe with me._

Footsteps approached her, but instead of the hurried and erratic footsteps of the servants, however, these were rhythmic and steady, relaxed and leisurely, as if the sight in front of them was nothing but the rising of the morning sun. She looked up and saw several men walking toward her, all clad in full plate armor with swords by their hips. She instantly recognized the one leading them by his red flame armor and slick silver hair.

"Cousin Maegor," she greeted, weakly, tired from the flame and the babe.

"Cousin Rhaella." A silky voice responded.

Rhaella swallowed her anxiousness and looked at her nonchalant cousin. Maegor Targaryen stood a head taller than Aerys, but was frail in comparison. His flamboyant crimson and black flame armor was custom built in the Street of Steel, yet still seemed ill-fitted for his thin torso and arms. He was clean-shaven and kept his hair long, and looked young for a man of seven and twenty, perhaps five years senior to Aerys, but Aerys was only five and ten. His eyes were/had a shade of haunting magenta, passed down from his father, the infamous Aerion "Brightflame". His smile was that of a person at ease, though the situation seemed hardly suited for a smile like that. _It makes his face look twisted_ , Rhaella thought.

"I saw it in my dream last night, you know? A dragon dream. I saw a comet leaping through the air, marking the sky red. I saw a green flame devouring dragons hungrily and effortlessly within a circle of sands and storms… Fled the castle in haste this morning, with my men, of course. And behold, Summerhall in ruin, such a tragedy really, I've always loved the gardens." Maegor said in a sing-song tone as haughty as his smirking eyes.

"And you did nothing but flee?" Rhaella raised her voice. Exhausted as she was, a fire flared within her. _All these deaths could have been prevented? Oh Grandfather, uncles, cousins, Ser Duncan..._

" I told Aegon. He thought me in the mood to be a mummer. The man never took a liking to me, unfortunately. He spoke only courtly to me and with a judgemental gaze each time. I never knew why... I never will either, it seems. " He chuckled lightly at his own jape, not enough to be a laugh, but the sound echoed in Rhaella's head all the same.

 _He is… was your king. Address him as such,_ Rhaella thought, but she said nothing, instead opted to rock Rhaegar gently. Maegor moved closer to her now, and she could not help but tense up. Even the babe took to her mood and started to whimper quietly.

"This is your son, I presume?" He leaned in and reached his gloved hand to touch the head of the young babe. It cost her much restraint to not slap his hand away.

"What an ugly little thing… I never liked babes. Vaella's miscarriages certainly do not help, that useless woman, cannot even bear the task of carrying my seed. She should be heavy with a babe as well now. Cousin, I do wish your blessings on my child to be. "

Cousin Vaella is the daughter of her grand uncle Daeron and his lady wife, Kiera of Tyrosh. Vaella was a sweet woman but unfortunately born simple-minded. She used to play childish games with Rhaella all the time until she married Maegor, who almost never let her go out of their chamber in the Red Keep. _At least my marriage is better than theirs._

He retracted his arm now and looked at her intently, as if tempting her to lash out. _It's all a play to him. He looks at me with amusement and will mock my indiscretions._

" I hope Cousin Vaella bears the child successfully and peacefully," she said curtly, almost whispering. _I hope you die a painful death. I hope your child has none of your cruelty._

" I thank you for your blessing." Almost a sound of mockery. Rhaella kept her head down, she did not dare look into his eyes, for she feared to see the eyes of a monster.

" Where, pray tell, is your father and your brother?" asked Maegor, though this time, he seemed to be a little more serious, his nonchalant facade slowly fading away.

"At Dragonstone." She replied

"And what of your uncles, Duncan and Daeron?" Another question, inquisitive in tone.

" I last saw them in the castle." She almost cried at that, but she stopped herself. _Be strong, Rhaella, this is not the time to weep tears of sorrow. Not in front of him at least._

" I see... I'm afraid I will have to make my way to King's Landing… to be with my wife for the birth, of course. If you will excuse me, cousin. I do hope to see you soon." He bent down, grabbed her hand, and kissed it gently.

"Farewell."

He joined his men and galloped away on top of his crimson destrier.


	2. Chapter 2

Maegor

Maegor dismounted from his crimson steed and approached the manse by the Iron Gate of King's Landing. A smell of rotten fish innards and lemon-scented perfume clung to the air. Maegor clinched his nose, for years he's been to this city, he could never get used to the stink. Yet it was not the foul stench of the peasantry, nor the pungent fragrances of the nobility that bothered him. It was the combination of the two that truly raised the bile within his stomach.

The manse was built some odd decades ago by a queer lordling from Dorne. It had high brick walls lined with bronze ornaments on top every third brick and a thick iron-framed gate coupled with twin grotesques shaped like fanged harpies lined on each side. The Mysterious lordling sold the manse soon after it was built and was never seen again.

Now it belonged to one Lord Daewyd Darklyn, the Master of Whisperers, the lord of Dun Fort and Duskendale, the owner of many popular taverns and inns within the walls of King's Landing, and, coincidentally, Maegor's foster father for most of his teenage years.

Maegor looked to the Harpies again, a sense of unease grew within him. It was no small task to win the throne from his cousin, this seemed to be as good of a place to start as any. Now though... now Maegor wasn't so sure. Lord Darklyn was a stern man, he never really appreciated some of Maegor's antics back then. And judging from the rumors, his old age did not dull him. Maegor breathed in deeply. I am the true heir to the Iron Throne, I will prevail, with Fire and Blood.

Fat Jon, the servant walked out of the estate.

" Greetings, Prince Maegor. To what business do you have with Lord Darklyn today?" The man bowed low as he did his customary greeting.

Maegor stood straighter. " A private audience with him... It concerns matters of the realm."

" I shall inform Lord Darklyn of your presence, my prince. Would you like any refreshments meanwhile? Wine perhaps?"

" No, Thank you." He declined dismissively.

Jon bowed again and walked away.

Minutes later, he strolled back to Maegor in the same relaxed, unconcerned pace.

" If you would be so kind as to follow me, my prince, the stable boys will take care of your horse," he bowed once again before turning around.

The inside of the manse was filled with rich tapestries and exotic arts. One had a muscular summer islander killing an enraged basilisk and another a Myrish painting of a highborn lady dancing with a drunk monkey. None of these strange decorations distracted from Maegor's impending dread, his fear of rejection.

Jon stopped at the final door on the second floor and knocked on it twice.

" My lord, It's Prince Maegor." The servant said.

" Come in." A gruff voice through the door answered back.

Lord Darklyn's black hair was now a shade of light grey, his beard was short and unruly, his face was lined with wrinkles, even his eyes were lighter. But Maegor could tell that it was the same man from all those years ago, nothing has changed. The old lord stood up and walked to the brighter side of the room. He raised a gold pitcher to Maegor.

"Wine?"

"I am fine, thank you."

" Have some. It's a fine vintage from Arbor, shame for it to go to waste." Lord Darklyn brought a glass to him. Maegor accepted it with lackluster enthusiasm, he wasn't much of a wine drinker these days, not since the dreams started appearing.

The old lord walked back to his chair and sat down, huffing while doing so.

"How are your cousins?" Darklyn asked.

Maegor raised his eyebrows to feign a surprise. Surely the people of King's Landing knew of what happened in Summerhall? " You haven't heard the news?"

" The ravens came three nights ago, Truly tragic. I shall miss Lady Jenny and her funny antics." Lord Darklyn took a leisurely sip from his goblet. " I was asking about your cousin Rhaella and her newborn son."

" They live…" Maegor practically growled out the response. An uncomfortable silence fell between the two. Maegor was never one to display any emotion to his foster father, the years at Dun Fort were not unpleasant, but nor was it enjoyable. The old man looked out to the only double-sided window. Staring into the ocean, as if his thoughts were lost in it. Maegor did not know how to start, his speech of grandiose forgotten in the back of his mind. He shut his eyes and caught his breath in a steady stream of air. " I need your vote." He muttered.

" For what?" The old man asked.

He's toying with me."For the crown, what else?" At that moment, Maegor could not help but raise his tone slightly. Show me respect, old man.

"Ah, I must have mistaken. I thought you were here to discuss the great stag hunt I partook with Lord Bar Emmon, or perhaps Ser Longwater's scandalous victory in the duel with Ser Follard." Lord Darklyn joked and waved his right hand as if dismissing Maegor's questioning.

" Stop your japes, I am here to discuss my right as King. "

With that, Lord Darklyn leaned forward from his chair, rested his goblet on top his marbled desk, and looked Maegor in the eyes. "And why? Why do you wish to be king?"

" It is my right, my father was the elder brother of Aegon, the law of inheritance states that a son comes before a brother, I was robbed of my throne." I am the true heir to the Iron Throne, I will prevail, with Fire and Blood.

"I asked you why you want to be king, not why you should be. " He sounded unimpressed.

You will respect me. " I want to restore glory to House Targaryen. We are a shell of what we once were. Lyonel Baratheon rebelled against the Iron Throne and Aegon married my cousin off to his son. He should have been punished, instead, he was rewarded. The pretenders still linger beyond the narrow sea, they still hold the ancestral blade of my House. I am the true heir to House Targaryen, to Valyria. I will bring respect to the name Targaryen once more, through fire and blood."

" A touching speech… your father thought to do the same, and look at what happened to him."

Heat shot up to Maegor's face. He pounded his untouched wine glass on the desk. " I will not have my father's name tarnished, he was a great man."

" A man you never knew, they call him the Monstrous." Old lord Darklyn voiced nonchalantly, whilst sipping on his goblet.

Maegor stood up at that, pushing his chair back. A man I never knew. Blood rushes through his veins, his face twisted from what he thought was indignation, his skin itched with crimson rage, and a numbing sound drummed in his ears. Blood, blood, Fire and Blood. But he could do nothing, he needed Lord Darklyn's support to have a chance to win this game.

" You are in my home, Maegor, behave like a guest. Sit down." The old man did not move an inch from his chair. He took another chilled sip from his goblet though. " There will be no vote, and that is final."

Maegor did not sit. " That's preposterous, I am of age and able-bodied, Jaeharys is sickly and weak. I am more fit to rule." His voice started to sound desperate even to him. " There should be a vote at the very least."

Sip. " He is the prince of Dragonstone, you are the prince of nothing. You hold no castles, nor lands. All the men you have, King Aegon gave them to you. What do you have other than your blood?" The old lord questioned.

" I… I am a knight.." A squeak compared to his glorious speech only moments before.

" Boy, have I taught you nothing, for all those years? You think I knighted you because of your skill at arms, or your valor, your honor? Do not make me laugh. I put my blade upon your shoulder because you were the king's nephew, nothing more." Sip. " The lords might not have loved our old king, but they respected him, supported him. They will do the same for his son. What makes you think they will follow you?"

" Aegon was too close to the smallfolk, he was too lenient to them. I will bring power back to the lords. I know you have always petitioned for the port of Duskendale to be rebuilt, if I am king, I shall grant that request."

Sip. " A tempting proposition, but an unrealistic one. Even if I did support you, my words would matter little if I am the only one."

" Lord Robar likes me…he invited me to his daughter's name day ceremony." Maegor reasoned meekly.

" Lord Robar was polite to you because you are a prince. You have no influence in court, the years you've spent in the citadel studying dragons does little when it comes to the matter of kingship. It reminds them of your father, not to mention your name..." My name? Damn my name! Why father, why? Why do you wish to curse me so!

Maegor offered his last defense. " My squire is the heir to Yronwood, I can convince house Yronwwod to raise their banner…"

Lord Darklyn cut him off swiftly. " Your squire is with you as a hostage, the Yronwoods are a Dornish house with a dying influence, they spent the last of it allying with the fourth pretender. They might contest claims in Dorne, but in the capital? No chance. I've given it enough thought, go back to your wife and son."

" My son?" Vaella has already given birth… I am a father now.

" Oh... You didn't know?" Lord Darklyn chuckled at that. "Your boy was born when the red comet struck the sky, quite a sight really. I guess you are truly desperate if you come to me before you go to them." The old man huffed. " Maegor, listen to my sage advice, your reign is over the moment your father named you after the Cruel. But it is not too late for your children. Jaehaerys' line is weak and feeble, perhaps one day they will die off. And that day is when your children will rule. Teach them to be loved by high and lowborn alike, and they have a chance. Now go, don't do anything stupid, I taught you better than that."

Maegor walked out of the room. Born beneath a bleeding star, among smoke and salt, comes the prince who was promised. The promised prince… is my son. Born from the line of the Brightflame.

…

Maegor rushed to his chamber in the Red Keep. When he opened the door, he saw his wife, Vaella, holding a white bundle. Vaella was two years senior to Maegor, she was not his first choice when it came to a wife, nor his second really. It was Rhaelle who he fancied first, then she was married off to Storm's End. Sometimes Maegor thought Aegon did so to spite him. But he had found comfort in Vaella. Her innocence intoxicates Maegor just as much as it infuriates him. How can a woman be so simple yet so addicting at the same time? She was frail in her beauty, something to be cherished and protected. At least I have you. Though she looked the part of an aging woman, her eyes still brought smiles to people in court, her laughter could be heard from the godwoods to the jousting grounds, they adored her, until she married me.

" Maegor?"

" Vaella." Maegor answered. He looked to the bundle in her arms. " That's my son?"

" Yes, our son, do you wish to see him?" A mystifying smile appeared on Vaella's face. Maegor approached them gently, afraid that his usual pace would scare them.

The babe still had a pink hue to him, but he looked healthy. His hair already started growing, a few strings of silver lined on top of his delicate head. " We should name him Daeron, after my father… the babe has his eyes after all." The babe's eyes opened, and brown orbs starred back at Maegor instead of the usual purple known to House Targaryen. Was it shock or was it shame? The true heir to the throne does not look like a dragon. But at that moment Maegor did not care, he was a father now. He felt warmth, he felt love, he felt like a part of a family. The line of the Brightflame.

" No... he shall be Allerion, after my father." The man I never knew.

...

Author note:

I noticed there is another fic that has a similar name called "line of brightflame". Just want to say that these two fics are not the same. Ok, maybe the first sentence of the summary. But I promise that is it.

Just to explain to people who might not know the canon targ family tree related to this story: King Maekar I has 4 sons: Daeron, Aerion, Aemon, and Aegon. Daeron and Aerion died, Aemon became a maester. So the contesting heirs of Maekar are Daeron's daughter: Vaella, Aerion's son: Maegor (one of my main characters), and Aegon. Everyone voted for Aegon and he became Aegon V the unlikely at the age of 33.

There is not much information offered about Vaella and Maegor, so they are basically OCs. In canon, Vaella is actually ten years older than Maegor, but for the convenience of the story, she is two years older (just gotta go with it).

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note:  
> That concludes my second chapter of this fic. Hopefully, you all enjoyed it. The first few chapters will be introductions to the plot. But the main story will take place around robert's rebellion era. I did a lot of research during the writing of this ( aka wiki of ice and fire). If you find any time inconsistencies please tell me. In canon, Maegor was never mentioned after his birth, presumably, he died during Summerhall. So this is assuming he survived it and what happens afterward. This is my take on a bunch of half mad targaryens. Also Just want to say that I will not intentionally bash a character. I do appreciate all comments and even ideas that you think might add to the story. Love you all 3


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